Birds of a Feather: (2) To Call a Swallow
by SSJ Mirai Gohan
Summary: Colin thought he could escape Gotham City, find a new place to live after the smoke cleared. Dash off in the wake of the chaos She sowed, and it would be the first good thing She had ever done for him. Instead, he's on a fool's mission with two determined older brothers trying to find an emotionally constipated man-child who was hurt by his equally emotionally constipated father.


Tim didn't know what to do. He broke down, he dealt with his emotions by taking them out on Bruce. Now, he needed a plan. He looked up, flaming determination in his eyes as he stared straight ahead, taking in Dick, who just arrived from a police car, leaping into action and sprinting to their location. Dick looked haggard, police uniform hastily thrown on, and his cap on sideways. His shoelaces were undone, and his eyes were cold.

Colin. Roughly Damian's age, and looking a little traumatized, but there was something in his eyes that promised Tim that he had been through worse. The main feature, beyond his bright red hair, were his absolutely massive wings. The kid had wings easily three times the size of Damian's. Damian's were smaller, tailored to his body. However, if Tim had to hazard a guess, he'd say that Colin's wingspan was 300cm, sharp, and pointed, with an emphasis on acceleration. Tim could see the sheer muscle moving with Colin as he shuffled his wings nervously, kicking his feet into the dirt. Tim could count 12 massive primary feathers, dragging along the ground as Colin stepped forwards. They looked rough, as if Colin didn't exactly take care of them often. However, if they dragged along the ground normally, it'd make sense that they'd be a little ruffled.

"I can help you find him." Colin's voice shook as he let the offer out. Tim's eyes widened, hope blossoming in his chest. "She will tell me where he is. She's worried about him, and She thinks you can help him. If She is calling me, I will go." Colin steps forward once more, determination shining in his eyes. His red hair ruffles slightly as the Wind pushes at him strongly, nearly shining in Her approval.

"Tim Drake. Robin." Tim says, quirking one side of his lips up and holding his hand out to shake. He saw Bruce visibly jolt at that, and Tim smiled at the wonder in Colin's eyes as he took his hand with an iron grip. Tim nearly winced in pain, feeling Colin's fingers dig into his own with a bruising hold. "One good handshake you have there, Colin." Tim grinned.

"Yeah, sorry. My powers get out of control sometimes." Colin smiled in response, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck.

"Where's Damian?! Bruce, where is Damian?" Dick has reached them, and is looking around, expecting to see the smallest step out from behind the shadows at any moment. Bruce looks away, gritting his teeth and clenching his teeth, in full uniform, the Batjet parked behind him. Surrounding it, the League watches on, Superman's passive stare and Wonder Woman's **definitely** judgemental gaze upon them. Tim can hear the Flash whistling obnoxiously and somehow that grounds him.

"Damian left Gotham." Tim sighed, turning on his left foot and facing Dick. He knows he looks like a mess - red cheeks, flaming nose, and bloodshot eyes. Dirt and grime cover his body, along with a less-than-healthy layer of dust. His clothes are in tatters, and Tim's fairly certain that part of his hair caught on fire when trying to save people. But it doesn't matter - he needed a haircut anyway. Tim stares down Dick's confused and concerned look. He didn't know Damian for long, but Tim knew all too well that in Dick's mind, Damian was already loved, even if the child himself didn't know it. Dick was the master of putting up fronts to distract from the fact he wasn't okay. Tim and Jason both used humour to distance themselves from their weaknesses. Tim was pretty sure Dick had seen through Damian right from the beginning.

"Damian is a Winged." Bruce's gruff voice came through the cowl, and _oh,_ Tim forgot, Bruce forgot how to be human while still inside the suit. "I found a recording of him stepping into a camera's field of view with his wings out." Bruce looked away, face expressionless and eyes distant. "I just…" he sighed, and ran a hand over the top of the cowl, curling his fingers into a fist afterwards. "I didn't want him to be scared."

Tim blinked.

"I didn't mean to startle him. I know I have issues. But Damian… Damian is my son. I didn't want him to think that I… didn't want him." Bruce made eye contact for the first time with Tim as he stood in stunned silence. "I can understand that I'm not the best option to go look for him. He'd probably get scared and run off, and he would keep running until I cornered him. I don't want to do that to him. If you need anything, and I mean _anything,_ " Bruce narrowed his eyes, his mouth settling into a thin line, and finally, Tim saw what he had been missing all this time. The desperation of a father trying to save his son. "Just let me know. I'll provide it." Bruce looked mildly furious, fingers twitching slightly as he regarded them. Tim could see the harsh acceptance in Bruce's eyes, and if the hesitation in his jaw movements was anything to go by, Bruce was still having a hard time with it.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you." Tim murmured, still shocked in silence. He could feel his jaw unhinging as Bruce's words sunk in. Tim had always been under the impression that Bruce would kill any Winged… regardless. "You know his power isn't particularly dangerous, right?" Tim asked, blinking up at the man. Bruce shook his head, shrugging slightly. "He can change his vocal chords to sound like anyone, or anything." Bruce nodded, a faint smile on his face. He sunk back into his cape, hiding his face, and Tim knew he needed time to think. This was a big change for Bruce. The man spent years studying them, and learning about them. He had to have seen what Tim had seen. Somewhere, Tim believed there was hope for him.

Tim turned to Dick, whose brow was furrowed. When Tim noticed the hard line to his mouth, he shook his head.

"Dick, I don't-"

"I'm going. If you try to stop me, I'll track you." Dick shook Tim off, fixing him with a glare that shut Tim up quick. "Damian is my little brother. You're my little brother. I would do the same for any of my family. I'm not letting you leave me behind. You, the redhead, your name is… Colin, right?" Dick turned to Colin, police badges shining on his shirt, baton tucked into his belt. "You can hear him?"

"No, I can hear Her. She tells me where he is." Colin said, widening his stance and dropping his eyebrows. The Wind began to swirl at him, pushing him backwards and ruffling his secondary feathers.

"She seems to be rougher with you." Tim noted, feeling how the Wind swirled around Colin with powerful gusts.

"She is different with everyone." Colin shrugged. "Her influence on us is limited by how much we listen to Her. If we have a track record of ignoring Her, then She becomes rougher in turn. But those who let Her in unconditionally tend to get treated like easily shattered glass. She doesn't have to remind them that She can blow them over into unfriendly air currents because they listen to Her. She plays favourites. Some need more help than others, and She'll spent more time with them if She thinks they need the support. She's fairly lazy, though. If She can't get into the space around one of us, She usually just gives up and trusts that we'll be alright." at Tim's incredulous look, Colin raised an eyebrow, his tone turning sarcastic. "Just because She's the Wind itself doesn't mean She's always right." Colin gestured to the destruction behind him, turning and furrowing his eyebrows. "There will not be just human casualties from this disaster." Colin mumbled the last part, angrily hitting his ratty sneaker into the ground.

"C'mon." Dick gently walked up to Colin, his arm hovering around Colin's shoulders. When Colin relaxed, Dick gently laid his arm upon Colin's massive shoulders, carefully pulling the boy into his side. "Let's go to the Manor, get you cleaned up. Some new clothes, maybe? We can head out tomorrow."

Colin shook his head, narrowing his eyes as the Wind pushed at him, easing off the second he shook his head. "No. He'll be too far ahead of us. I don't know why, She seems to think he'll be gone."

Dick nodded mutely, watching as the League members who answered Bruce's call left, explosive power in their wake. He steered Colin towards the Bat-jet as Bruce entered it, the jet flaring to life, lights turning on and the engine roaring. Dick and Colin walked ahead of Tim, who hobbled behind them, finally feeling the exhaustion of the fight. It was getting pretty dark outside, the wailing sirens the only light in the destroyed city.

Knuckles white, hands gripping the steering wheel with an iron grip. Breathe in, breathe out. Count your steps. Count the seconds. Keep staring ahead, keep going until you can't anymore. Bruce's eyes stayed steady, kept watching the horizon, gently flying downwards, wings barely fitting inside the opening on the side of waterfall, the water falling atop the jet with a soothing pitter-patter. Anxiety burst into his stomach, cold rushing through him from his stomach. Butterflies flew around, his nerves alight and buzzing. His hands twitched, his spine straightening. He curled and uncurled his fingers, feeling the rough leather of the steering wheel scratch against his callused hands.

It was old. He knew that. The flash of crimson wings, blood soaked pavement, the hot smoking hole found in the creature's forehead. The eye that had been there only moments before.

His mother's pearls falling to the ground and scattering.

Bruce sighed as he landed the jet, standing up. He opened the door and exited, hearing the quiet chatter of his children as they ushered Colin away from the monitors. Colin reminded Bruce of himself. Jaded. Roughened edge. Shaped by his demons.

Bruce look a glance behind him, feeling his heartbeat jump as he watched the large wings drag across the floor, Dick swearing and nearly stepping on one of Colin's feathers. The boy snarled, eyes narrowing, as he tucked his wings closer into his body, tension heavy in his shoulders. Bruce watched as Dick held his hands up placatingly and apologized, Colin relaxing in turn. When Dick blinked at the feathers, Tim lightly pushed him away and shook his head roughly. Bruce watched Dick immediately back off, taking a step away and eying the smallest carefully. Bruce looked up, watched Alfred enter the room.

The man glanced around, took note of Bruce's hunched over form, grief etched in his shoulders, the desperate purpose to Tim's gait, the rarely-serious expression on Dick's face, and the presence of another Winged. Bruce could see Alfred stagger emotionally, his head bowing and his eyes closing. The older gentlemen raised his head, set his shoulders, wiped a tear from forming in the corner of his eye, and went down the stairs, joining the trio. When Alfred turned his back, Bruce jolted.

Alfred had been wearing an earring, but the earring itself was long enough it had fallen onto his back. Standing out starkly on Alfred's pristine black uniform, was a mockingbird feather, half grey, half white. Perfectly groomed, the earring looped through the thickest part of the shaft, a thin hole drilled to allow the metal to loop through it. As he joined the group, Alfred brought the earring to the front of his suit, Colin's eyes widening.

As they exited the Cave, Bruce watched Colin step slightly towards Alfred, allowing the man proximity none of the others had been granted. The door shut softly behind them, cutting off Alfred's mention of snacks in the kitchen.

Bruce brought a hand to his face, taking off some of the dried blood, and watching it flake off of his face. Crimson blood. Stained suits. White dresses that now ran red. Bruce had gone so long without his father, without his mother. He had blamed an entire species for the actions of one. Winged were dangerous - they needed to be watched carefully. No second chances. But perhaps, Bruce mused, that was the problem.

Damian had never had any chances to begin with, and that failure, was completely on Bruce's own stubborn, selfish head.

It was time to clean up the mess he had made.


End file.
